Revitalization's Weblog

For the curious, questioning, and wandering soul

Archive for nature

I want to try something.

I want to better myself.

I want to begin again every single solitary day.

I want to continue to explore and try new things.

I want to push myself to be better

I want to push myself to be stronger

I want to encourage myself to take an extra step

I want to mold myself into the best version

I want to love myself dearly

I want to offer myself the deep, unconditional love that I so desperately want to offer some else

I want to hold onto myself

I want to laugh

I want to smile often

I want to let the small stuff go

I want to be kind

I want to be humble

I want to remember where I came from

I want to remember the types of lives people are living everywhere

I want to take the lessons, the growing experiences in stride

I don’t want to forget my roots

I don’t want to leave my passions behind in fading photographs of a younger, more bright-eyed me

I want to touch people

I want to making lasting impressions on others

I want to be brave

I want to be vocal

I want to speak my mind, calmly and matter-of-factly

I want to be heard

I want to make a difference

I want to stand out

I want to stand up for others

I want to stand behind my beliefs with conviction

I want to not only think it or dream it, but pursue it, do it and achieve it

I want to remember who I am and what I stand for

I want to always try to be mindful in the moment

I want every moment with every person to matter, to make a lasting impact

I want to be memorable

I want to be imprinted in the minds of others

I want to be revered

I want to be respected

I want to be loved

I want to be held

I want to be kissed, deeply

I want to be safe

I want to be excited, staring into another person’s eyes

I want to watch the world pass me by

I want to have a greater wisdom

I want to have a deeper understanding

I want to find comfort in the unknown

I want to respect the process

I want to respect the time it takes

I want to remember that greatness takes time, patience

I want to be mindful, always, that the beauty you see in the world is a reflection of you

I want to be open

I want to always be seeking, searching, curious, open and available to the unknown, to what the earth and the universe has to offer

I want to be ready, open armed

Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us.

Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there–on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. -Carl Sagan

Hallelujah

I close my eyes, I feel my breath. I feel my chest rise and fall, my heart beats calmly. I listen to the melody, I bask in the beauty. I see the ocean, I see the sky and the clouds. I see the waves roll in, blue water washing ashore. I feel the sun, warm and strong. I feel it in my bones. I feel connected, I feel in place, I feel a part. All is right with the world, in this moment, all is right. I peer out, as far as the eye can see, nothing but blue skies and ocean stretching across the horizon. And in this moment, that’s all there is. Hallelujah

delicate

delicate

Jack London’s Wolf House

Life moves with the waves

The sea is wondrous. Teeming with life, constantly and forever moving. Life moves with the waves, with the surges, with the crashes. The ocean, with such vastness, stretches around this earth, with its deep blues, teal greens, and foamy whites, with its mystery in inky black crevasses, with such power as it surges to touch the sky. As the moon tugs upon its waters, the creatures swim with such radiance and artistry, simply looking for survival. And the whales! Oh how I love the whales, such grandiose and majestic creatures, singing deep songs that echo for miles and miles. Yes, the ocean is wonderful and powerful, deep and wise, living, breathing, and forever moving.

Golden

Sunshine poured down from above, golden honey, glorious luminance, bathing stretches of vibrant green, alive with life. Dense and robust, the fields greedily soaked in the light, stretching upwards and upwards, reaching for the sky.

sink.

sink into life.

feel it wrap its arms around you

feel it like the paint oozing between your fingers

feel it like the mud between your toes

close your eyes and with a soft smile upon your lips, feel it in the wisps of the wind

it’s stirring, it’s buzzing. every inch of this earth. the people, the cities, the tiny microbes

it’s overwhelming really. but to capture all that life is, well that would simply suck the wind right out of you.

to be aware of such utter brillance…. well that’s nearly impossible

it’s like staring at a thousand suns, you simply must to look away.

All we can do is take it piece by piece, and moment by moment, and be simply overjoyed that I’m here, because of one million chances, one million twists and turns, one million maybes. I’m here.

While it may be dumbfounding, and perhaps it will never ever make sense, here we are, in a utopia laid out before us.

here we are.

sink into life

feel it wrap its arms around you

flash of orange

until my eyes lose you

Would you just stop and pause? It makes me so frustrated when you speed through the days. It makes me so angry, it makes me clench my fists when you steam ahead, leaving behind a blurry trail. It makes me stomp and cry out. You, like lava pouring down a mountainside, unstoppable. You, like a speeding train, accelerating and accelerating, broken brakes. You, whirlwind. You…. you’re leaving. you’re getting further away. you’re already disappearing into the horizon, getting smaller and smaller, until my eyes lose you. You’re far. You’ve left me behind, you’ve forgotten. How? How could you have possibly let me go, how could you let me slip from your grasp, so smooth. You’re far and I’m here, crumpled cardboard cut-out. Gazing at the surrounding vastness.

instinct from deep within

we grow from perfection. perfect eyes, perfect skin, perfect souls. we enter the world with total innocence that begins to fade the moment we take that first gasp. that first scream. that first wailing cry. evolution begins to creep out. out of our DNA. millions of years of evolution begins to take complete control. it dictates our first step, our first words. it dictates absolutely everything. instinct, from deep within. from deep inside. instinct that has been developing since the very first life, and the very first death. life and death, for millions of years. Breeding instinct, breeding what we are today. we start innocent, but we grow like seeds soaked in history, predetermined from the beginning of time. oh don’t be so naive– you have no control. everything that you are has been written since the beginning of time. you are simply fulfilling some master plan, preset well before the formation of your very own conciousness. animals simply breeding evolution for a future race, a means with no end in sight.

The sweet violins. They lull me into lust. Mmmm. Lovely.

At last.

Where’s my mind at?

this is where my mind lingers:

The aqua blue water whirled, bubbles rising towards the surface. The water is clear, with little specs glimmering as they sink to the sand. There’s no life here, only brown-white sand, that stretches for miles. Somehow I can stay below, eyes open and no breath needed. I look all around, but there’s only soft sand and the movement of the soft waves.

I push off the ground, my toes dig into the sand. As my head breaks the water, I peer up at cloudy skies. White billowing clouds stream across the sky. As I face the horizon, there’s nothing but water in every direction. It’s perfectly calm.

I blink, and it changed. From light to dark. From day to night- but it is not night, not really. Dark chaotic clouds rise, rumbling. The atmosphere is electric, the darkness romantic. These heavenly beings surging with power. I feel it coming: the first strike. With a loud crack, light fills every inch of space and mind.

Living Like Weasels

I’ve always loved Annie Dillard’s language. It’s so powerful, and Living Like Weasels truly a beautiful piece of literature. Here are my favorite excerpts:

“Weasel! I’d never seen one wild before. He was ten inches long, thin as a curve, a muscled ribbon, brown as fruitwood, soft-furred, alert. His face was fierce, small and pointed as a lizard’s; he would have made a good arrowhead. There was just a dot of chin, maybe two brown hairs’ worth, and then the pure white fur began that spread down his underside. He had two black eyes I didn’t see, any more than you see a window.

The weasel was stunned into stillness as he was emerging from beneath an enormous shaggy wild rose bush four feet away. I was stunned into stillness twisted backward on the tree trunk. Our eyes locked, and someone threw away the key.

Our look was as if two lovers, or deadly enemies, met unexpectedly on an overgrown path when each had been thinking of something else: a clearing blow to the gut. It was also a bright blow to the brain, or a sudden beating of brains, with all the charge and intimate grate of rubbed balloons. It emptied our lungs. It felled the forest, moved the fields, and drained the pond; the world dismantled and tumbled into that black hole of eyes. If you and I looked at each other that way, our skulls would split and drop to our shoulders. But we don’t. We keep our skulls. So.

He disappeared. This was only last week, and already I don’t remember what shattered the enchantment. I think I blinked, I think I retrieved my brain from the weasel’s brain, and tried to memorize what I was seeing, and the weasel felt the yank of separation, the careening splash-down into real life and the urgent current of instinct. He vanished under the wild rose. I waited motionless, my mind suddenly full of data and my spirit with pleadings, but he didn’t return.”

And later she writes….

“We could, you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience–even of silence–by choice. The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting. A weasel doesn’t “attack” anything; a weasel lives as he’s meant to, yielding at every moment to the perfect freedom of single necessity.

I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you’re going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out and drop; let your musky flesh fall off in shreds, and let your very bones unhinge and scatter, loosened over fields, over fields and woods, lightly, thoughtless, from any height at all, from as high as eagles.”

 

If you love this as much as I do, google it and read the whole thing.

sun and grass and wind

The drums are beating. Take a deep breath and exhale. Look up and see the sun. The great ball of fiery wrath. Or beauty. Whatever you’d like, really. Feel the grass, green blades bright, towering over tiny dirt specs. There’s the wind, whipping your hair, natural air into your nostrils.

LIFE. it begins and ends with you.

LIFE. it begins and ends with you.

And all that happens in between, all the heartbreaks, they just fill the middle

You. You enter the world alone, crying and screaming. You grow up, you adapt, you rebel, you begin to realize, you begin to love someone, and you grow old.

But, after all of those years, wondering and hoping and crying and crumbling, you begin to fade away.

You have grown to know the external so well, it almost becomes all that you are.

But, you are still the only thing in this entire world and universe that you truly know.

you have you.

Life, it begins and ends with you. That will never change.

 

i’ll follow you back with the sun in your eyes

baby doll. you’ll be okay. look up, what do you see? stars.

cut the chatter. let it melt.

Ah. there it is.

it’s crystal clear, really. it’s in front of your beautiful, lovely face. crisp green and bright blue. cold wind.

it’s been there.

it’s there. breathe deep. clear. it’s so clear.

and what do i see? I see leaves, i see the glass surface, i see snow caps, pure white, i see blue mountains, i see spidery roots, i see you

it’s moments like these, when I know that it’s this. this. come into this, come.

it’s vast and it’s pure and it’s all i’ll ever need. it’s real and it’s alive and it’s there. it’s been there. simply.

night drops. dark blue and bright. the sky opens and there’s beauty. such wonder, a blanket of truth

be here.

Where You Stand

“You, from where you are, you cannot see the naked boy

The naked boy holds the camera

You are the naked boy before the camera

Or you are here and you are imagining the naked boy

This is not a dream and this is not a dream relationship

The boy wants to touch you

You are the other boy

The city is far away up in flames.

We’ve come a long way to be here

We said we wanted to get away from it all, but when we arrived in this place, it was all still here

It traveled with us

The histories, the bookmarks are part of your body

So all that you are is where you stand

Naked and getting more naked

A weight without weapons, a body of work

You stand at the edge of the rest of your life. This is what you stand for.

The boy stands with you, beside you, before you. The boy is the life you stand before and you are the boy standing at the edge

Stand by me. Stand by me.”

-Chris Goode

Dark. Black. Possibility.

Sometimes I wrap my hands across my eyes and peer into the black. I see abyss. Dark. Black. Possibility.

I see what I could be. I envision something… different.

I see a little girl, frolicking on the dusty street in her faded dress and bare feet. I see a newborn baby, with soft pink eyes shut tight, dreaming of light and sound. I see a young man dropped to the ground with his head in his palms, broken. I see a child peeking around the corner, only to catch a glimpse of golden light pouring through glass windows. I see a woman running along the tides, thunder rumbles behind as her hair whips back in the wind.

I envision something… desperate, something forgotten

For a moment the earth has slowed down, the mind settles, and all that matters are deep breaths of pure, cold air.

I imagine I’m sitting at a cafe, under an awning. It’s raining. It’s night. I’m just sitting there, breathing in that clean, crisp smell. The water falls on cobblestone roads, as the yellow streetlights reflect across the pavement.

It’s a quiet rain. A heavy mist.

It seems like everything is calm, for a moment. For a moment the earth has slowed down, the mind settles, and all that matters are deep breaths of pure, cold air.

looking for love is lonely

I realized something today.

I want an simple life. With a few things: family, friends- lots of good and caring friends, happiness, and above all love. And I think that’s the one thing lacking here- love. And I think that a lot of people want love. It’s a human necessity really, and we feel incomplete without it. And I think I try to fix or shift the other parts of my life, trying to accomodate, trying to figure out some way to get love, find love, be in love.

I hate waiting…. it’s lonely…

You have yourself. So have yourself. Be yourself.

you know… it’s about a lot. and this might just be bullshit, but hey who knows, it might be true…

today, i just feel like writing, and i just feel like there might be someone listening. I feel like, if anything, I could be listening! I will listen. listen up self.

it’s about a lot. life, i mean. life’s about a lot, and it’s about realizing that life’s not short. LIFE IS LONG. Life is long, and hard, and beautiful, and tough, and crazy, and at the end, we may want more. I mean, quenching a thirst for life, I don’t think that even exists- you gotta want more and more, and at the end, you feel like wow, it’s done. life’s done? i mean…. really? how can that be? And i hope that once i get to that point, when I’m saying Wow, life’s done, and this is done, i hope that… well i hope that i had a great one. One that i can be happy with, and feel fulfilled. Not financially, or professionally, or superficially… but internally, and simply happy. content with what i’ve become. content with what has happened.

Life is long. and… while i fear a lot… i fear that everything won’t happen for me… i fear that i made mistakes.. i fear that i won’t have enough time… i have to believe that it will happen for me, and that while i have made mistakes, there is time and it will happen. it will come.

It will come. Will it come? I think we have to believe that it will. I think there is no other way to live. Because to live in fear, doubt, and frustration… well that’s no way to live. Oh sure, fleeting doubt and fear, it comes, but it should go. let it go.

Let it go. And hold onto hope, and believe that it will come. Because, if anything, trust in the fact that you have yourself, if nothing else, and if no one else, you have yourself. And that’s special. That’s unique, and undeniable. That’s remarkable, and no one can take that away from you, even after it’s all over. Even after death, you have yourself.

You have yourself. So have yourself. Be yourself. Be honest with yourself. Because in the  end, things break, people leave, and the world turns- and if there is nothing left, nothing at all, you have you. You have you, and that’s remarkable. So trust in yourself, trust in life, trust in promise, trust in the human condition, trust in you that: it’s about a lot, and while life is long, it will come. So let it go because you have yourself. Undeniably.

today i can

today I can stretch. today I can pull my hands up over my head and stretch- a good, long, nice stretch. today I can fall back into white pillows, softly smiling. today i can look through the blinds, and let the sun pour on my cheek. today I can breathe deep as my eyes flutter happily. today i can

Why do we get to be?

Fragments. Fragmented, cut up, broken. It’s what we know. These sharp shards of all that we know sit in our minds, and somehow we cope. I mean I don’t really get it… I don’t get how I can live in this world, and accept that I don’t, and will never understand everything. I don’t get how I can live in this world, and walk the same paths, and do the same things, and see the same people, and not understand everything. Honestly.

We come into this world, a screaming pink ball, so angry that we had to come out of that comfort place, that beautiful warm womb. We come into this world, and are expected to adapt. And grow. And accept. Accept all that we see, and all that is, we must accept it because it is here, and it is real, as real as we know. And because it is here and because we can see it, touch it, feel it, it is real, and that’s all that matters. So we live in this world.

We live with these fragments. Fragments of what life is. Fragments of what “human” means. Fragments of a higher power that is all knowning. Fragments of an eternalness of it all. Fragments of the universe that we somehow, somehow are a part of, without even acknowledging it, we are, we are a part of it. Fundamentally, and essentially. It is unquestioning. Right? Maybe.

I just don’t get it. I mean, I get that there is life, and there is us, because I am here, at least in this moment I think I am, and I think that’s good enough to acknowledge that this is true. Right now is happening, at least we think it is. But, in essence, what does it matter if it truly is or isn’t. Because thought, and agreement that what is, IS, well that makes things real. And so I am sitting here, real. I am real, and you are real, and we are living in this world together, as we imagine it and percieve it, and how we see it makes it how it is, because that is all we know. And so we sit here, together, in this world, seeing, living, breathing, and nothing.

No questions. No demands for answers! NOTHING! I don’t get it! I don’t get how people are just “OK” with this. This reality- people accept it, undeniably. As if this is real, because it is what we know. There is no questioning. None. There is no question about why! There are no questions about us, and the universe, and where we come from- where these personalities, and thoughts, these complex and unique thoughts come from. Sure, from DNA, from genes, from biology, but why? Why do we have capabilities to be? To be freely thinking and moving? Why do we get to be?

Why do we get to be?

I guess that’s the question right there. And, if we get to be, and I think most would agree, at least those who are, that we are, right now, right here, we are. And if we are, and we get to be, and maybe it’s this wonderful gift, maybe it’s a mistake, maybe it just is, then why do we get to die? Why do we have to die? Why do we get to live and get to die- it should be really one or the other. But then again, who I am to say what things “should” be like. Haha, it’s comical really, to think that we can suggest how things “should” be, when we have no control over how things are. We are just thrown into this reality, and are expected to accept it, and to just be “ok” with the fact that we get to live and we get to die.

So why do we get to be? And why do we get to die?

That warmth that fills your heart with hot red blood

And you stand with hair pulled back, and your hands are pressing against your ears, and all you can hear is the pattering sound of water on your skull, your cranium, your mind. And then the water rushes in, and fills all voids, swishes around and around in your mind, warm and fuzzy. Warm lights. Yellows and orange, it’s so peaceful, as if in back in the womb, when there was absolutely nothing, where there was just warmth, and light, and dim echoes of sounds, and the comforting sound of a mother’s heartbeat, of a mother’s voice. And your eyes are closed, and a slight smile sits on your lips, and you are cared for, and loved, and all is wondrful and beautiful because you are here, surrounded by warmth.

And then you open your eyes, and you see where you are, and  you see you. You see you and what you have become and you wonder what the hell you are doing right here, right now. If you have made ANY difference in this fucking world that you have been living in, so blindly. As if you haven’t started living, as if you are waiting for something good or great, something to change, some major life change  after which you will start living as the person you want to be, and you feel you need that fuckng push. That SHOVE. And it doesn’t come, and so you wait, and you slump, and your shoulders hunch, and your eyes lower, and your spirit withers, and all you have, all you hang onto is that little glimmering hope that ONE DAY that change will come. It will bring you up, lift you high and take you across, where all is good and wonderful, where life begins, and where you so desperately belong. And as you wait, and wait, and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait, you see the fucking damage that this time, this torturous time has had on your rocky heart, and your wrinkled brow. And then self-pity sets in.

And all you want to do is crawl back into that warm place. That warmth that fills your heart with hot red blood and flushes your cheeks. That place that you know was the one place where you were sure, and all you had to do was close your eyes, rest your mind, and feel soft pulses, plush sounds, calm breaths. Just be still.